Night at the Lodge
There is a rough scrape-knock upon the door - as if the visitor has decided to use a mailed boot in greeting, in lieu of a knocker or even a fist. It's clear there's someone at home. The lights are on, after all. After a moment, the door opens up, but it's not the familiar bumbling ranger that answers. Instead, it's some tall, black beared man, garbed in hunting leathers, who grunts and peers about. A horsey face peers right back. Parked right up upon the door's threshold, the rather small mare tilts its head to gaze impassively back with one dark eye while it champs its bit - a thin thread of drool sliding off the metal headed straight for the man's nearest boot. "Feh?" blurts the man at the unexpected visitor. He stares openly at the equine, reaching up a hand to rub at his scraggly beard, discovering a bit of lodged foodstuff in the process, and popping it into his mouth. That seems to raise some hope in him, and he pokes more at his facial hair in search of something else, but comes up with nothing. A whuffle, and the mare's curved ears swivel forward as it too begins to lip at the beard with interest... "Ha, Conceit, you'll ruin your appetite," Ashlynn chides lightly from behind the majority of the horse's bulk, where she had been adjusting the ties to some saddlebags. "Sorry about that," she apologizes, taking a hold of the bridle's cheekstrap and turning the mare's head away to the tune of a disapproving snort from the animal. "Would Master Vhramis Wolfsbane be in residence?" "Sorry, horsey. Nothing left," replies the hunter, sounding quite let down by that fact. He shrugs and gives the black growth another scratch, turning his attention upon the appearance of the rider. "Wolfsbane?" A pause at that as he thinks, intense contemplation settling across his features. He even gives a glance back inside, but seeing no help to be found there, is forced to shrug to Ashlynn and mutter something noncomittal. "Ye....mmur?" Ashlynn arches one fine brow, and tilts her head in unconscious imitation of a horse trying to peer closer at an object. "I beg your pardon?" she eventually asks, beginning to sound just as confused. "This *is* Wolfsbane Lodge...isn't it?" That question causes the man to delve back into the labyrinthine tunnels of his mind, blankly staring at Ashlynn's curosity piqued face. "...Yes?" he finally replies in question, the word coming slowly as if to leave room for a sudden change of mind. His eyes widen as a hand abruptly clasps on his shoulder, pushing him aside, making way for another non-Wolfsbane shaped individual. "Eh? Hello. We don't need any horsemeat, Mistress," a frog faced man declares, his free hand holding a half empty mug of something. Ashlynn's other brow begins to dip in greater perplexity, even as her free hand reflexively threads through Conceit's mane in a reflexively possessive gesture. "I am not selling horses. I am looking for Vhramis Wolfsbane," she restates with a touch of exasperation beginning to creep in. "...you're not?" Frog replies, having given a closer look to Conceit after his initial refusal. He licks his lips, before taking a swallow of his drink, before leaning to the side to try to see more of the animal from where he's standing. The black beared man pokes his head about the doorframe to look at Ashlynn, interjecting with, "It's Wolfsbane Lodge, Mistress. I remember now." Another hand rests on Frogface's shoulder, a third man shoving himself into the doorway. "What's this here?" A third man who, unfortunately, isn't Wolfsbane either. Ashlynn's expression goes through various stages of bemusement, exasperation, outright irritation and then back, before she coughs to buy herself time and manages in a more-or-less controlled tone, "Vhramis Wolfsbane. How many more people are left in there anyway? Maybe if you all came out and lined up, I can pick out who I want and leave the rest of you in peace, then..." The third man finally forces himself a bit into view, flashing a grin at Ashlynn, while Beard and Frogface begin both speaking at once, one questioning where one would buy such a horse, and how best to cook it, while the other begins discussing just how it was he remebered it's named Wolfsbane lodge. Just as a fourth voice calls out from within, asking why Vhramis is outside selling horses, a clearing of a throat can be heard from behind Ashlynn and Conceit. A moment spent gaping, and then Ashlynn accuses as she protectively hugs her horse's head close, "You didn't eat the apple I left him, did you?" because Light only knows that all sense of logic had already departed long ago from this particular conversation before she jumps with an undignified yelp at the throat-clearing, whirling around - and nearly getting her foot stomped on for her troubles, as she accidentally yanks Conceit's bridle around in the process. Vhramis jumps in alarm as well, releasing a strangled shout as he staggers backwards, resting a hand on his heart. "Master Wolfsbane, she wants to buy and rename your lodge," Beard calls out helpfully, before oofing as Frog elbows him in the side to interrupt. "You brought apples, you say?" he asks, gulping back more of his drink, and turning his attention from the horse's flanks to the saddlebags it wears. The third, thus far unnamed figure in the doorway, passes a knife to Frog, adding, "Carve me off a slice of one of 'em," in hopeful request. Enough is enough...Conceit shies, whinnying in disgust. A crow-hop to the side, and the mare breaks free from Ashlynn's grip to dance out of arm's reach of all the loud-mouthed participants; ears pinned and tail sweeping. Yanked off-balance by her horse's unexpected maneuver, Ashlynn flails gracefully at the air for a split second before she is coughing in the dirt. "We're tough...and gamey," she gasps in abject surrender. The three in the doorway vanish into the lodge as the horse begins to shy away, one of them calling in a terrified voice, "It's rampaging!" Vhramis is still gawking at the scene, grasping at the warbow slung over his shoulder to squeeze it in reassurance, his eyes darting from each of the players as he attempts to understand. "...Ashlynn?" he finally asks, likely figuring it's the best way to find what's happening. "What'd you do?" "What'd *I* do...!" the courier manages defensively over a last cough before she finally focuses on him...and clumsily pushes herself up to a sitting position, blinking at him owlishly. "What'd *you* do? To yourself. Not that you don't look good, just that - er, I mean..." she stumbles over the wreck of her words with a flush of embarrassment, her mind only belatedly and reluctantly re-engaging itself after too much exposure to the others. "Nothing!" Vhramis cringes, reaching a hand up instinctively to touch at his face, before clearing his throat and glancing away. "I...woke up like this? It wasn't me who did it." He chews his bottom lip lightly for a moment, before sharply turning his attention back to her. "You're sitting on the ground," he points out with a blink, offering a hand. "Yes. Yes, I am," Ashlynn agrees awkwardly, a little late in accepting his hand when she stares for several moments beyond polite and allowing herself to be helped back to her feet; still a little dazed. "What just happened?" she asks forlornly, glancing between the open door, the sulking Conceit, and Vhramis. He'd like to answer, it seems. The ranger opens his mouth as if to do just that, looking past her to the open door of the lodge, before he changes his mind. Instead, "Many who work the Dawnstar Forest stop by here. Some more than others. They're my...friends?" He seems a bit reluctant to call them that, but there's a bit of a resigned acceptance there, as if he's only recently come to terms with his fate. Ashlynn stares outright; if anything, looking even more flabbergasted by his claim than anything else that night. But finally, her intellect manages to recover from its recent shocks, and one corner of her mouth begins to twitch uncontrollably. Vhramis' eyes dart to Ashlynn repeatedly before looking away, the man shifting where he stands as he lets the silence linger as she reacts. "Not a word," he finally adds with a grumble. "Wedgecrest Falls was just the same, if you remember. Almost." Ashlynn is forced to bite her lip at this point, her wan visage now flushed with mirth; and it is a long moment before she is finally able to manage in a slightly-strangled, but mostly normal-sounding voice, "I am afraid the details escape me at this moment, Master Wolfsbane. I think you would do well to refresh both our memories on that point." "Maybe later," replies the ranger at that, grumbling, and looking more than a little embarassed. And so! He changes the subject! "You found the Lodge?" he asks Ashlynn, blinking curiously at her and leaving the dangerous subject matter of his odd friends behind. "Eventually," Ashlynn shrugs one shoulder as she glances ruefully toward the open doorway, beginning the irksomely familiar process of slapping excess road-dust from her clothes. "It took some doing, both in finding someone who knew its general whereabouts and then finding the lodge itself. It seems you have many more and better stories to recount than the ones of Wedgecrest Falls." "Here anyone just walks in," Vhramis agrees to that with a slight nod, gesturing to the open door by way of example. "I suppose that alone would just be asking for odd occurances, but in addition to that, I welcome them. So I have nobody to blame but myself, I suppose." "I thought we had long established that it is always your fault," Ashlynn notes with a gentler humor, this time turning to smile at him - an expression of simple happiness upon seeing him once more. "I am glad to see that you have yet managed to survive the misadventures I am certain you found yourself in since last we talked. How are your letters?" she teases as she begins to approach Conceit and collect the mare. "I haven't really had to use them for some time," coughs the ranger at that, embarassment reasserting itself upon him. "So...last I checked? They were fine. I'm sure I could make use of them again if needed." He scratches at his head as he looks about the surrounding woods, squinting into the darkness. "When did we last talk, anyway?" A mock disappointed shake of her head, and then Ashlynn's grin slips into a rueful sigh as she finally coaxes Conceit into a better mood with a loosening of the saddle's girth. "Too long. I must admit that it is one of several times that are particularly...fuzzy to me. Apple?" she asks even as one is tossed toward him - palmed from one of the deceptively slim saddlebags as she was seeing to the mare, while she begins to lead Conceit toward the nearest wending of the creek. Vhramis' hand snaps out to catch the tossed fruit, turning it over in his palm thoughtfully. "If it's fuzzy to you, then I've likely little hope of remembering," he reasons with a half shrug, following the courier after a moment as she leads her horse off to drink. "You always did have a better memory." "Now you are just making excuses," Ashlynn accuses lightly with a brief, crooked grin before she is working the bridle over Conceit's head. The mare snorts in relief, shaking its now-bare head roughly before taking a last step over the pebbles lining the creek bed. A cautious sniff, and after a moment, the horse buries its muzzle in the clear, cold water. "Or maybe it is simply the version of events we disagreed on," the courier continues as she scratches affectionately beneath the mare's mane, "though, I think, even if you are right, you may not find that as true as before. How are you, Vhramis?" she asks with a sincere gaze turned upon him. The ranger peers up from the apple to her at the question, before he takes a chomp and looks away again, back at the lodge. "Guess I'm fine, all considering. Things are never actually quiet, of course, but it feels so, nonetheless," he states with his mouth full as he chews away. A knife goes spiraling out of the lodge door, blade lodging into the dirt, before Beard rushes out to retrieve it. Wiping it off on his shirt, he turns and runs back inside, shouting, "You missed! I won!", his voice cut out by the door closing behind him. Ashlynn chuckles sympathetically, though the sound abruptly cuts off at the ominously soft *thud* of the knife into the ground. Left staring as the weapon is retrieved and the lodge once more secured, she muses faintly, "At first, I wondered if it would be much of an imposition if I were to borrow a space tonight. But now, I am wondering if it is not safer out here than in that building." "They calm down once reminded that they're inside," Vhramis responds with a grunt, shaking his head some. "You'd be safe, if you wished to stay, Ash. Plus, they'll all likely be sleeping soon, and be gone when I awake in the morning, off to whereever it is they come from." Ashlynn snorts, patently disbelieving, but makes no further issue of it as she makes a brief survey of the immediate area and sinks down upon a water-smoothed stone large enough to fit a person comfortably while sprawled. "No more of that, girl, else you will make yourself sick," she says with a playful toss of a pebble toward Conceit. It lands with a small *plunk* near its foreleg, and the mare gives a disapproving flick of an ear before finally raising its head, muzzle dripping, to nose hopefully at some nearby moss. "Thanks, I appreciate it," she nods toward the man. "What do you usually do with yourself these days?" "I've half thought to follow them one day, to see where it is they frequent the most, but it's never seemed that important," Vhramis shrugs lightly. "And, me? I spend most of my time lately setting up the lodge. It was fully furnished and such when it was given to me, but it's been a while since I...ah. Managed something? I suppose that's the word for it." Ashlynn chuckles, squinting at him in the dim light of the moons filtered through overhanging riparians. "Not since Wedgecrest, I suppose? And be careful, if you ever do follow that whimsy...I have my suspicions that it could be as hazardous to your health as Wildling hunting. How did you come by a lodge?" "It was a gift," explains Wolfsbane at that, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "From my brother. I don't know why he gave me it, entirely, but I'm thankful of course. It was right before he left. I hope to do him proud with it, with whatever it is I do with it in the end." Ashlynn blinks, straightening a little at the mention of the only surviving blood relation of his generation. There is a moment of wary uncertainty - turned more upon herself than in consideration of the words - before she seems to find a certain reassurance in some internal assessment and smiles, leaning her elbows upon her knees once more. "There is no need to hope, Vhramis," she notes as she idly picks out a flat river pebble, feeling its smooth surface before flicking it out over the shallow stream, skipping it to nearly the opposite bank. "He obviously has full faith in your ability to keep it well, if he put it in your hands." "Well..." muses the man quietly for a few moments, shifting his weight in embarassment at that. "...at the very least, perhaps I can keep the furniture from becoming destroyed. Or replace it in short order before too many notice it." A suspicious look enters his eyes at that, and he peers closely at Ashlynn. "Come to think of it, I seem to remember you being involved in a certain incident that left some rugs and tapestries of Wedgecrest Falls splashed with rabbit blood." "What?" Ashlynn immediately retorts, with a too-innocent affront that betrays the act for simple reflex before she even manages to actually grasp what he is referring to. "Certainly not! I was merely an unfortnate bystander..." He seems rather impressed at her ability to put on that heir of innocence so quickly, blinking at her, before he scoffs. "You're far too good at that. I almost believed you, until I remembered your laughing." "A bystander can laugh without being guilty!" Ashlynn splutters, still clinging to that innocent facade until mirth finally escapes with a snort of laughter; past images overwhelming her control. "With a surplus of elder brothers to blame things on, I became expert at looking very good," she admits cheekily. Finally bored of the moss and aquatic plants nearby, Conceit begins to approach Vhramis, nosing delicately for the apple core it can smell nearby. Without much thinking, Vhramis offers out the remaining uneaten part of the apple to the horse, shaking his head to Ashlynn. "I think you've never been a bystander before in your life," he accuses, finally quirking a smile. "You're far too insistant upon involving yourself." Lipping at the man's hand, Conceit contentedly takes the core and crunches upon it as it shifts its weight; pebbles shifting with a soft clack as it cocks one rear hoof. A flick of the tail scatters water droplets where the end has dabbled into the stream...and if one happens to be looking, a small shadow seems to leap briefly after them, as if in chase, before the water smooths into its usual chuckling ripples. "I never - well, rarely, I insist. I am simply very good at placing myself in indispensible positions - or, at least, convincing others of such," Ashlynn prevaricates with a lopsided grin, qualifiers heaped pellmell atop each other as soon as she can think of them. "You'd be far better at convincing if you could control your grin, Ash," Vhramis states matter of factly, wiping off a bit of residual horse saliva on his thigh. "And if by indispensible, you mean, unescapable, then perhaps you're right." It's his turn to look a bit innocent, casting his eyes skyward, or at least to the trees overhead. "Hah! Cast what names and aspersions as you will, but at least I gain consistent results...!" Ashlynn begins to protest good-humoredly. At the same time, Conceit's tail goes flick...flick...and abruptly, the mare's head jerks up with a loud snort, all four legs stiff and planted as it gives its tail a startled whip upwards - and whatever had taken a hold of its tip goes flying up...only to come right back down with a wet *plop* directly upon the mare's rump. With a loud, whinnying shriek, the horse throws itself into a mad circle of bucks and kicks, flinging water and stones everywhere. Mad horse! Vhramis looks reasonably alarmed at the violent behavior from the mare, scattering away lest he gets kicked. "What happened?" he blurts out, an arm held up before him in a defensive gesture, even if it'd do impressively little against a good strike from one of the hooves. Ashlynn is just as startled, and nearly gets clocked right between the eyes by a rock for her amazement. "Ow - Conceit!" she protests, managing at the last moment a duck and a raised arm to fend off the missiles before wading heedlessly into the water with a sharp whistle, trying to grasp for mane or forelock to force the horse's head down. Whether the sound actually manages to gain the mare's attention is up for debate - at about the same moment, the silhouette that had been clinging gamely to the back of the saddle and rump is finally flung off, cart-wheeling through the air to slap back into the stream. A disgruntled thrash in the water, and then it is eeling away with disdainful ease...a river weasel, off to search for less adventurous amusements. Vhramis's arm gradually lowers as all the ruckus dies down, inching forward as he peers briefly at the river, before back to Ashlynn working to calm her horse. "Do you need help?" he asks, seeming a bit at a loss for what to do in the situation. His speciality seems to lay in controlling animals that aren't bigger than his head, and are of the flying variety. Conceit maintains a tendency to skitter nervously, eyes rolling white, but Ashlynn - soaked from the effort of keeping the horse in line without a proper bridle - gives the horse's forelock a sharp tug. "Mind yourself," she snaps, as the mare finally settles down. Sighing, she gives Vhramis a wan, rueful smile, and shivers convulsively. "Point me to a place to put her up for the night? Hopefully the saddlebags with my spare clothes didn't take up any of the water she kicked up." "There's a shelter a bit that way where you can set her," Vhramis explains, gesturing over his shoulder distractedly, still focused in looking between the two thoughtfully. "It's highly fenced in, so she'll be alright. Unless there's more weasels, but she can probably handle herself, from what I've seen. Are /you/ alright?" "Thanks...I think I would agree with your point on the weasels," Ashlynn murmurs as she picks her way back to dry land, still leading the damp Conceit by the forelock like a recalcitrant and only somewhat-chastened child. "A bit bruised around the edges," the courier begins airily before another shiver has her teeth clacking together audibly. "A little easier to chill these days," she admits, ruefulness smudging her words into near unintelligibility. "A little tired." Vhramis looks somewhat worried by her manner of response, watching her closely, before he gestures for her to come along. "I'll get you something hot to drink or eat inside, if you'd like. You're not quite that old yet, otherwise, are you?" He quirks a faint smile to her. Ashlynn, startled, blinks back at him before she chuckles, attempting to straighten a little from the hunch she had adopted in spite of the evening's mild temperatures. "Hey, you were the one complaining about going senile before me, earlier," she handily misquotes before giving him a grateful nod. "It would be much appreciated, soon as I get Conceit settled." Category:Logs